


The YouTube Horror Series

by markiboss (purplelly)



Category: PewDiePie - Fandom, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom, more to be added - Fandom
Genre: Gore, Horror, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Other, Zombie Apocalypse, more to be added - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-09-26 14:34:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9904733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplelly/pseuds/markiboss
Summary: The YouTube Horror Series - A multitude of short horror stories featuring popular YouTubers as the main cast. Whatever goes bump in the night, watch your favorite online personas go investigate and probably face their impending death - or not. Each chapter will be its own unique story, and each will have appropriate warnings added beforehand. Enjoy!





	1. Chapter 1

As mentioned above: 

The YouTube Horror Series - A multitude of short horror stories featuring popular YouTubers as the main cast. Whatever goes bump in the night, watch your favorite online personas go investigate and probably face their impending death - or not. Each chapter will be its own unique story, and each will have appropriate warnings added beforehand. 

Horror has become a favorite genre of mine, and I want to get more practice in it. Fanfiction usually helps me practice. Hopefully I'll get some finished stories up soon, and if anyone has any ideas, feel free to comment them below! I've been low on motivation lately and this is an attempt at fixing that. 

Thank you, and enjoy!


	2. Everyone Has Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unknown serial killer has been targeting YouTubers and digging through their personal lives until they happen to stumble upon a piece of information best left behind. Using this forbidden information, this killer stalks and threatens and aims to destroy these online personas. His next victim is someone called Jack, who has a secret that trumps all the killer's previous victims.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: gore, stalking, murder happens.**
> 
> Here's to start of the series! I had this particular story in my drafts for months, and I had planned for it to go chapter-by-chapter instead of posted all at once. The chapters were pretty short anyways, so posting it all at once isn't much of an issue. I hope you all enjoy!

Prologue.

It started about two years ago, and the fucker hasn’t even been caught yet. 

It wasn’t a big thing at first, not a well-known conspiracy until just a few months ago, when he got greedy and aimed for well-known and respected people. At first, the guy targeted new channels. 

New tutorial channels, new vlog channels, new let’s play channels. ‘New’ as in a hundred subscribers or so. Not very popular yet, but slowly climbing up the ladder to greatness. 

The first, or suspected first, was a channel called glAdos-g. A more of a theory channel, basing his first few videos on the Portal series, but it had grown and now had plenty theories on a wide variety of games. The guy running it went by ‘G’, and had barely over 100 subs before the first attack started. 

The attack had been an anonymous ‘hacker’, you’d say, who posted a screen cap of a series of texts from G to some girl. Out of context, it looked clearly like he was convincing an underage girl to ‘come home’ with him, even as the girl repeatedly says no. 

G claimed the texts were faked, but for such a small channel, its hard to make a comeback. His sub count dropped dramatically, and soon after, his phone number and address were posted by the same user. Multiple accounts of harassment were notified by this ‘G’ before his channel was deleted entirely, his existence disappearing from the net.

It wasn’t until these attacks made themselves known that G never just escaped his YouTube life, but he was also one of the many victims of this future serial killer. 

The killer’s attacks remained unknown until, two years and many victims later, he decided to get greedy. His target had been the King of YouTube, Pewdiepie, also known as Felix Kjellburg. This was also known as the killer’s only failed attempt. 

His attacks began with a picture of Felix appearing to kiss another woman aside from his girlfriend. Unfortunately, the King of YouTube happened to be an expert in Photoshop and shut the lie down real fast. The alleged picture had only sparked a day of drama and barely affected Felix’s channel as a whole. 

The second attack had been an out-of-context phone call segment of Felix calling his fans names and insulting them. Felix had cleared the air when he explained the call was about an actual fan that had busted in their house and he was complaining to Marzia about it over the phone. 

Granted, that attack had shaken him. This person had bugged their phone calls, showing he wasn’t some nobody trying to start drama. For a long time after that, Felix was hesitant to use his phone, and went as far to replace all the ones he and Marzia owned. This attack, though a complete lie, had damaged his image in some people’s eyes. 

This was also when Felix had decided to fight back. He secured their wifi, their phones, their computers, anything that could get hacked. If anyone, Felix was the real hero of this story, doing everything his wealth would allow to protect the life he’s managed to build, and escaping with everything in tact. 

The thing was, the attacker never stopped at hacking. It was one morning when Marzia woke Felix up in a panic. The whole situation had her on edge, and seeing the front door standing wide open with the lock busted had sent her in hysterics. 

The strangest part was that nothing had been stolen or broken, aside from the lock. Felix had called a locksmith and ordered a new lock on every door and window in the house, keeping only two keys for the two of them. He debated moving, but the situation didn’t last long enough for that to be necessary. 

He never told the public about this event, and Jack only heard of it a month later, when Felix was sure it was okay to use Skype again. 

Felix swore he saw a figure or two stalking them outside the window, but no one ever appeared in the house. It was soon after this that the killer seemed to give up, since nothing else happened to them. Just one day had the balls enough to break in and then - nothing. 

The good part was that many people did their research after all this, and discovered how many plausible victims there could be. How lucky Felix was out of the bunch. 

When it was long enough that they felt safe, Felix began to let his guard down. He explained everything to his closest friends, since they’ve been shut out due to previous fear. He almost expected something else bad to happen, but nothing. 

That is, not until a few months later. 

Not until the killer targeted Jack. 

\--

1.

Jack had woken up one morning to his phone steadily streaming in notifications. It was vibrating every few seconds, and he sat up in bed with one eye open, confused. His notifications were turned off, for the most part, unless it was from his friends. 

He scrolled through them, and saw that multiple people he followed had tweeted him asking ‘Is it true??’ through PM. There were even some texts from his brother, Malcolm, and that isn’t a good sign. Usually his brother isn’t much involved in his channel. 

He went to his brother first, and he could feel his heart stopping at the picture he sent. It brought up memories he didn’t want to think about, and he was about to ask Malcolm why he decided to send him that when his brother posted a follow-up text. 

_It’s posted everywhere. Who the hell got it? Who did you tell??_

Without replying, Jack exited out the messenger and went to Twitter, where most of the messages were coming from. Felix asked him, Mark, Robin, Arin, nearly everyone he knew was curious about the picture, which was apparently posted everywhere while he was asleep. He went to Robin first, one of his closest friends, and nearly laughed in relief when the question wasn’t an accusation. 

_I know we’re friends and all, and you’d tell me if you’re an axe-murderer, but what was with those mugshots? Are they real?_

He typed up a quick reply and soon after, Robin messaged him back. 

**Yes, they are.**

_Dude, serious? But you look like a kid?_

**Yeah, I was in eight in those. It’s a long story, Robin, and I’d rather not get into it over twitter.**

_Ok. whatever that asshole is doing by trying to start shit, you know I’m always on your side._

**I know. Thanks**

Jack moved on to the next few messages, which were all variations of the same conversation. When he got to Felix, though, he showed a different concern. After admitting that the mugshots were real, Felix continued on a different route than the others. 

_i was wondering if they were photoshop. you know, like the picture that asshole a few months back posted?_

**you mean the one that was you supposedly cheating?**

_exactly. but this isn’t fake, its real._

**what do you mean?**

_i mean that guy might be after you now, jack, and he has something real to hold against you_

For a moment, as Jack read the text, he found he couldn’t move. It was like liquid ice had run through his blood stream and frozen his fingers in place. As he remained speechless, Felix continued typing. 

_i think you should be extra cautious from now on. get a new phone or something, encrypt your computer._

_maybe you should come to england._

**Fe, you’re not serious.**

_i am 100% serious. you live by yourself. at least i live with marzia and have a couple pugs - im not all alone and in danger of being kidnapped without anyone knowing a damn thing. we know the guy that went after me had the ability to break in, and he could’ve taken anything_. _but he didnt. he chose not to. why, i have no idea, but he could do anything to you._

**felix you’re just worried. im sure its just some fan who found something they shouldn’t have.**

_you haven’t seen the post yet, have you?_

Jack didn’t need to reply before Felix sent him a link. He hesitated for about five seconds before tapping it, and let his phone take him to an anonymous tumblr post. 

The post had the mugshot of eight year old Jack first, with a description underneath. 

_Sean William McLoughlin, eight years old, was convicted of a serious crime in April, 1998. I won’t go in details why - yet. The crime was erased from most public areas due to the family’s will to let their boy live a normal life. It’ll be impossible to find out more about this if you don’t know what you’re looking for._

The post was vaguely threatening and enough for Jack to report it immediately. It already had thousands of notes, so it won’t do any good, but getting it erased as fast as possible will at least help his psych. 

Right as he finished notifying the tumblr staff, he got a text from an unknown number. It was a banner across the top of his screen, and he had enough time to read it. The words made him freeze in place. 

_Already trying to erase the past?_

The moment Jack could feel his fingers again, he went to the number and blocked it right away, then shut his phone off. He’d order a new one later. He set it aside and rushed for the computer, not bothering to shower first, so he could log on Skype. 

He had a few messages there too. He had forgotten he added Malcolm on Skype. His brother was barely active on there, and they texted each other for the most part, but he must have logged on only to message Jack. 

_I saw you ignore my text. Who did you tell?_

Jack sighed. It was time to face his brother. 

**i didn’t tell anyone.**

_Then how the hell did they find that picture?_

Malcolm had just as bad memories of that time as Jack does. Both of them had agreed to forget about it all, but this puts a damper on their plans. 

**i don’t know. this guy had done this before**

_What does that mean?_

Jack does his best to relay what happened to Felix to Malcolm. He’s told bits of it to him from their few-and-far-between conversations, but now he tries to tell him the whole story. 

_And you think this guy is after you now?_

**we think so.**

_You do know what this could do to you, right? it would ruin everything for you._

**i know.**

_and he just left felix alone for no reason? Probably because what he had was fake. but with you - if he knows what happened, it’s real. it would ruin you_

**i know.**

**felix wants me to move in with him**

_good bloody idea cause you’re not moving in with me_

_wait thats not how i meant it_

_i just cant do that again sean_

_this is too close to home for me_

**yeah i get it**

**ill think about it okay? and you wont have to get involved**

_good_

_i mean_

_im worried about you. this sounds dangerous_

**then just forget it. i never said anything. go back to your normal life and if i suddenly disappear you’re finally free of your burden, aren’t you?**

Jack didn’t bother to read what else his brother wrote. He was too frustrated at Malcolm to continue with what will be a worthless argument. They’ve fought over the same thing for many, many years, ever since they were old enough to comprehend what had happened. 

He looked over his other messages and noticed Mark was still trying to reach him. He doesn’t remember answering Mark’s Twitter messages. Maybe he ignored him on accident. 

Jack selected Mark’s name and looked over the messages. 

_jack are you okay?_

_sean sorry :P_

_i heard that photo’s real from Felix. I’m sorry, people can be such dicks, invading your life like that._

The messages managed to relax Jack, if slightly. He was tense from just the last hour alone, but at least the frustration had eased. He typed back a reply. 

**yeah, i’m alright**

**but everybody has questions. what about you?**

The reply was almost instantaneous. A thought popped into Jack’s head that Mark, on the other side of the world, was waiting for his reply. The idea made him blush. 

_I’ll only ask questions if you’re comfortable with it._

**yeah, go ahead.**

_why do you have mugshots? not to mention that you’re a kid in them?_

Jack typed out a reply, then erased it, then typed one out, then erased it. His fingers hovered over the keys for a long moment when he couldn’t think of how to word it. He hadn’t thought about what happened in so long, not to mention talk about it. Finally, he took the cowardice way out.

**i think it might be best if i kept it to myself.**

_ok. no hard feelings, promise :)_

**felix says it might be the guy that attacked him**

_damn felix_

_don’t listen to him, okay? he’s still shaken up over the whole thing. he’s probably just over thinking things._

**he mentioned wanting me to move in with him just to be safe**

_he’s just overreacting_

_listen, if you do feel unsafe, you’re welcome to come over to LA. chica would love to see you again :D_

**i’ll think about it**

**i need to get the day started. talk to you later?**

_definitely_

Jack finally closed his Skype and rested his head in his hands. He’s sure he’s expected to make some sort of public statement. A Tweet? But this seemed to serious for just a Tweet. A tumblr post? Not everyone uses tumblr. Is a vlog too much attention to a photo he’d rather forget about? Kind of.

Still, a vlog is the only way he’d get his message across to everyone. Sighing, he gets up to take a shower, planning what he’ll say for the video. 

\---

2.

The vlog went up that day, and he tried to keep it vague and impersonal as possible. He’s usually so open with his fans, so this was uncomfortable to do, and he’s sure they’ll feel it. But he has no other choice. If they find out what happened, no one would trust him again.

The second video was one he had saved to be posted that day, a fun story-driven game that Jack enjoyed. He wished right now to be whisked away to a different story, if it meant forgetting about that day.

Maybe that’s a good idea. For the as long as his recording software would allow, he’ll record that game and deal with the rest of his problems later. 

When he finally took off his headphones, having ended the recording seconds ago, the light from the window across the room had diminished into an inky blackness. The dark outside suddenly unnerved him, and Jack stood up to close the blinds. 

Logging back into Skype, he found more missed messages and a few missed calls, most from his brother. One of the calls were from Felix, and the rest of the messages were a mix from Felix and Mark and Robin. 

The only thought he had was, _what happened now?_

He clicked on his brother’s messages first. It was a long string of apologies, at first, and explanations on why he said the things he did, then angry accusations on why Jack wasn’t answering. Then a long pause before the next set of messages. 

He sent a video. Looking at the thumbnail, Jack knew exactly what it was. 

What followed was a hysterical long line of messages that expressed Malcolm’s pure anger and panic. More demands of who Jack told, of what would happen to Jack’s reputation now, what that killer was after. Each word felt like a stab to the gut, not in the sense Malcolm was hurting him, but in the sense of growing dread. Of knowing what would happen to him now. 

_Its been posted to YouTube!! everyone has seen it! my damn coworker has asked about it! i saw it on facebook, fucking facebook! do you know what you’ve done?!_

Almost in a daze, Jack selected the messages from Felix. All the offers of Jack moving in and concern of the killer’s new target were gone, now replaced with disbelief. 

_That’s not true, right Jack? That’s not you. he faked it, just like he did with me. that can’t be real right? you didn’t do that, right?_

Jack couldn’t find it in himself to reply. Robotically, he went to Robin’s messages. They were nearly identical to Felix’s. 

_pm me man, tell me something. i haven’t heard from you all day. what is this? what did that guy do? what did **you** do?_

Mark’s messages were similar, but struggling to keep being empathetic. Jack wondered why he even bothered - it’s not like Jack deserved to be understood. There wasn’t anything to understand. 

_i know there’s a reason behind this, if youll just answer me! i’m serious about you coming to LA now. Take the next flight, you might be in danger. maybe felix wasn’t overreacting._

The Skype ring startled him, and a window popped up to tell him Mark was trying to call him. Jack accepted the call without thinking about it. 

Mark’s face cam greeted him, and Mark sighed in relief when Jack answered. 

“Thank god, Jack, are you okay?” 

Jack didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t know what he was feeling. His right hand scratched at the palm of his left. 

“Jack?” 

“No.” He shook his head to enunciate his answer. 

Mark sighed. “I’m sorry. That guy must be faking this shit, just to get you into trouble. I mean, murder? Who does that guy think you are?” 

He was cut off when a violent sob ripped from Jack’s chest. Mark flinched, and he shifted forward in his seat, as if making a move to comfort Jack through the screen. 

“Jack?” 

“It wasn’t fake.” 

Mark had gone still. Jack could see it, even as his sight blurred with forming tears. He swallowed and tried to hush the hiccuping sobs now pushing up his throat. 

“What?” 

“It’s not fake.” Jack wiped at his eyes. “That kid, that’s me. Every word is real. Every word I said.”

“But...?” Mark trailed. “You wouldn’t...? You couldn’t have?” 

“I did,” Jack nodded. He wrapped his arms around himself, preparing for the hateful words that’s sure to come. 

But Mark remained awfully silent. 

\----

3.

The year was 1998, on a cool day in April. The expansive back yard of the two story house lead into thick woods, but the forest did not scare the five children of that family. 

Said children were spending the day outside, as their parents sipped lemonade on the back porch while they watched their children. Ma busied herself with a book, while Pa filled his pipe and lit it. 

The youngest of the five children sat upon his older brother’s shoulders, and gripped onto his hair for dear life. Their other brother chased them around the yard, chucking water balloons at their backs. The two sisters hid behind trees with their own stash of water balloons, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. 

A water balloon happened to hit the back of the youngest’s head, and he went momentarily light headed. He tipped backwards, letting out a cry halfway down as he realized what was happening, and got the breath knocked out of him as he hit the ground. 

The two older brothers paused in their fight, waiting for the moment whether the eight year old will decide to cry or laugh it off. It was always a gamble for kids under ten. 

But Sean, as the youngest was called, sat up and laughed, rubbing at his side half-heartedly. He was desperately trying not to cry in front of his older brothers, if his sniffles and teary eyes were any indication. Malcolm, the middle boy, and the one who offered to give Sean a ride on his shoulders, held a hand out for him. 

Sean took his hand and stood up, grinning at him even though his side was still throbbing. Then the eldest unveiled a hidden balloon and nailed Malcolm on top of the head. 

Sean squealed with laughter, and the eldest child picked him up and carried him on his back as Malcolm chased them for revenge. All of them were pelted moments later when the girls took the opportunity. 

It was this moment that investigators would recall when asked about the motive behind the murders, if it wasn’t ‘the kid was just crazy’. Child therapists would theorize that children have no morals, therefore he didn’t know what he was doing. Some thought he might have sleep walked. Most people thought he was out of his mind. 

That night, when all the children and parents were fast asleep, something awoke within Sean, who’s last name at the time was O'Doherty, later changed by his aunt to save him some semblance of a normal life.  

He took the knife from the kitchen, a long and sharp bread knife, and went around to each of his sibling’s bed rooms and cut their throat before they could scream. They’d wake up choking on their own blood, and only have enough time to see Sean’s blank eyes before they faded to black. 

Malcolm had gotten up to use the bathroom at the right time, barely missing Sean as he sliced their eldest brother’s throat, then moved on to their sisters, then their parents. 

Malcolm had walked in their bedroom, and after spotting the state his older brother was in, hid in the closet. When Sean returned to their bedroom, all he did was place the knife on the bedside table before going back to sleep. Malcolm stayed hidden in the closet all throughout night.

Sean remained asleep until the morning, when he squirmed as he sat up, glancing once at Malcolm’s bed, then at his eldest brother, before looking again and taking in what had happened to him. Then Sean became a sobbing, confused mess, and that was when Malcolm revealed himself to comfort his little brother. 

They called the police and remained a sobbing huddled mess until the police arrived, taking them away as they investigated what became the most shocking homicide in their small town. The murder of five family members, the survival of one, and the murderer revealed as an eight year old who didn’t remember committing it. 

Sean was held by police for a long time, looking for a confession, but Sean had told them the truth and they wouldn’t let him go. At eight, he never understood it. Malcolm went to go live with their aunt, and why couldn’t he?

Eventually, after long hours of therapy, he confessed to murdering them, sticking by his statement by not remembering it, and remained in therapy for most of his life. He wasn’t convicted due to his young age and that he was forced to plead insanity. Their aunt changed their last name to McLoughlin, and she often called him Jack rather than Sean, which he preferred greatly after the ordeal. 

He and Malcolm had tried to stick together, to work to understand what had happened, but the event had damaged their relationship far from what could be saved. They remained on good terms, but agreed never to talk about it again. 

And they stuck to that promise for a long time, until a stalker decided to bring up long buried information, and spread it for the world to see. 

\---

4.

The video was Sean O'Doherty, eight years old, crying out repeatedly to the police that he did not murder his family, despite the cops pulling out multiple pieces of evidence, including Malcolm’s statement. While Malcolm was also convinced Sean did not commit the murders, he had admitted that something used Sean to kill. To the investigators, that was a kid’s way of saying Sean did it. 

Each broken sob broke Jack’s heart more and more, landing in a pit of dread in his stomach. The video on YouTube was uploaded by a channel made yesterday, and made a point of comparing the child in the video to a baby picture Jack had shared with his fans some time ago. They looked identical. 

The description was a mimicry of the text message Jack had received by an unknown number sometime ago - _You can’t erase the past._

It already had millions of views. The comments were insane, and in turn Jack’s latest videos were bombarded with questions. His friends had messaged him multiple times, his brother among them, and going ignored. Jack wasn’t sure what to do yet. 

There was one person he wanted desperately to see right now. Just for comfort, if nothing else. 

Pulling up Mark’s name on Skype, Jack sent him a message. 

**im taking th enext fight t o la**

Then he shut the computer off entirely and packed his bags.

-

He was forced to turn his phone back on, if only to keep in contact with Mark while he went to airport at 2 am. The next flight leaving to LA was in an hour, and he hurried to it right away. 

Mark didn’t ask him what made the decision, so he just told Jack to be careful and keep in touch. 

As Jack waited in line at the airport, his phone buzzed as his brother called him. Malcolm had been trying to reach him since the video came out, and Jack had been avoiding him as long as possible. He decided he couldn’t keep that up forever. He answered the call. 

“ _Sean! Where the hell have you been?!”_

_“_ Avoiding you,” Jack said honestly, but he noticed his voice sounded...dead. Malcolm seemed to notice too, as he went silent for a few long seconds. 

“ _What are we going to do about this?”_

_“_ Do whatever you want,” Jack said. “I’m going to LA.”

“ _Sean_ ,” Malcolm said seriously. “ _You’re my little brother and I care about you. If you need a place to stay, come to my house. I’ve treated you awfully - I know you aren’t responsible for what happened and yet I blamed you anyway. I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you_.” 

Jack didn’t know what to say for a long while. Malcolm waited patiently, and eventually Jack huffed out a sigh. 

“I appreciate it, Malcolm,” Jack said. “But I’m not putting your life in danger, too. Not again. I’ll see you after this all blows over.” He didn’t wait for Malcolm’s response when he hung up. 

Felix was demanding Jack text him every hour to make sure he’s okay, and Jack did just that before boarding the flight. He also hovered over another name to call, hesitating for just a few seconds before finally tapping it.

At the first ring, Mark answered it. 

“Jack!” Mark said. “You’re coming to LA?” 

“At the airport now,” Jack said. He deliberately tried to appear more peppy, but it sounded awkward on his tongue. Mark picked up on it, too. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Not really.” 

“You haven’t slept at all, have you? It’s got to be late there.” 

“Actually, early morning. Two am, to be exact.” 

“Get some sleep on the flight. Chica’s waiting for you.” 

“Can’t wait to see her,” Jack laughed, weakly. “Mark, I’m sorry. I know I’m in a dangerous situation and even...even now that you _know_ , you still want me.” 

“...I’m not gonna lie,” Mark began. “It’s freaked me out a bit. But there’s reason to it, surely? And I expect you to explain when you get here.” It sounded like a joke, but mostly it was a question that Jack picked up on.

“Yeah, I will,” Jack agreed. “Mark, you know those victims of this guy that suddenly disappeared?” 

“You’re not going to disappear, Jack.” 

“But what if I do?” Jack continued. “And if I do, I want you to know something.” 

“What?” 

Jack braced himself, swallowing hard before speaking. “I like you. As more than a friend. I know you probably don’t feel the same way, but I wanted you know that in case anything happens.” He paused. “We could probably just forget I said anything.” 

“No!” Mark said, and it startled Jack. “Uh, I mean, no. I don’t want to forget what you said. Because I feel the same way.” 

Jack could feel his face turning red. Both ends of the phone remained silent as they both tried to calm their burning faces. Jack was the one who cleared his throat, effectively breaking the tense silence. 

“I’ll see you in LA,” Jack said. 

“Yeah, I’ll be waiting!” Mark said, almost breathless, and the call seemed to end too soon.

Not long after, Jack was boarding the plane. He made himself comfortable, but right as the plane picked itself off the ground, he found he was drifting into a much needed nap.

A flight attendant woke him, and Jack groggily grabbed his bags and exited the plane. He texted Mark he had landed, but noticed he had some other notifications. One was from an unknown number.

The sight of it made him pause. He should delete it. More than likely, the creep was just trying to scare him. 

Than would it do harm to check it?

It was an audio file. Nothing else. Jack hit play and held the phone to his ear. 

“ _I like you. As more than a friend. I know you probably don’t feel the same way--_ ”

Jack yanked the phone away as he heard his own voice. He swallowed, hard, before putting back to his ear.

“-- _Because I feel the same way.”_

A long pause. Jack almost thought it was over until he heard his own voice again.

“ _I’ll see you in LA.”_

_“Yeah, I’ll be waiting!”  
_

Then it ended. His hands were shaking as he looked back down at the screen. There wasn’t anything else sent with the file, but the message was clear. The killer knew he was in LA.

As he walked towards the exit of the airport, he dropped his phone in the trash.

\----

5.

Mark tapped on the steering wheel, looking around the parking lot for any empty space. He was late, after taking a nap on the couch while waiting for Jack’s flight to land. He didn’t mean to fall asleep, but at least he woke up just as he got Jack’s text. 

When he finally found a place to park, he sprinted to the airport and looked around aimlessly. He couldn’t see Jack anywhere. 

The drive over should have given him enough time to grab his bags and be waiting for Mark. He knew he must be overreacting, but Mark couldn’t help the seed of worry sprout in his gut. 

Just to calm his nerves, he selected Jack’s name from his contacts and called him. As it was ringing in his ear, he heard another phone somewhere muffled begin to ring. Mark didn’t think much of it. 

The call went to voice mail, where a peppy Jack told him to leave a message. Mark swore and called again, looking around the airport. 

If the seed had been sprouting, it was now taking root in every place in his stomach, constricting his throat with worry. 

The second time he called Jack, he heard the ringing phone again, somewhere to his left. Mark connected the dots and spun around, searching for a head of green hair. 

He saw a trash can. But within it, he heard a phone’s chime, indicating a call. Mark stepped forward and peered inside. 

On top of the rest of the trash, a phone was facing up, and the screen was bright with an unflattering picture of Mark and his name underneath. 

Mark made a move to grab it, but hesitated. Jack must have threw it out with good purpose. Maybe it was bugged. Or something. 

But that also begs the question. Where the hell did Jack go?

A couple feet away from the trash, towards the door, he saw a couple bags. A suitcase and a duffel, both haphazardly tossed on the ground. Or dropped. 

Mark rushed over and, tossing a look around the area, began to rummage through them. For anything that could tell him these were Jacks. 

If they were? Well. Something bad happened, but he’s not sure what.

He found multiple t-shirts in the suitcase that Mark’s sure Jack has worn in a video. A Starbomb shirt, an NSP one, he found a Markiplier shirt, too. But it could be he just happened upon a fan’s bag. 

The duffel is where he found what he was looking for. A passport, and in it, Jack’s ID. 

Mark swore loudly as found it, meaning these bags were definitely his. And Jack is nowhere to be found. 

Mark tossed the passport back in the duffel and hefted it over his shoulder. He grabbed the suitcase to drag along behind him, and made his way out the door. 

\----

6.

Jack had just tossed his phone away when someone locked arms with him and something else was pressed hard against his side. 

“What the f--” Jack began, the person shushed him. They were dressed in a hood with sunglasses, a scarf covering their mouth. 

“Stay quiet and do as I say,” The person spoke lowly. “I have a glock pressed against your side. If you try to fight back, I’ll press the trigger and your insides will spill across this airport floor.”

Jack didn’t speak, didn’t move. The person took this as an affirmation. 

“Good,” They said. “Walk with me.”

They took no more than three steps when the person yanked Jack to a halt. 

“Drop your bags,” They demanded. Jack did as he was told, letting the duffel slip from his shoulder and his suitcase tip over. 

“Let’s go,” They said. “Out to the car park.” 

Jack allowed himself to be lead, pleading with the security cameras they passed to help him. He wondered if he could get away with asking anyone passing by for help, but anyone in the area briskly passed without a glance towards them. Then they were walking out the door. 

It was obviously still early morning, the sun just barely coming up over the horizon. The person lead Jack to a red sedan, opening the back seat, and motioning him to get in. 

Jack began to shake his head, but the person jabbed the glock at his ribs. Jack winced and climbed in the car. 

The person climbed in next to him, and before Jack could voice his confusion, they used the butt of the gun to hit him across the face. 

Jack grunted, dazed, and blindly reached for something to hold onto as he tipped over. His sight cleared in time to see the person reel back once more, and when he was hit a second time, he knew nothing. 

\---

7.

When Jack woke up, he was on his back, staring at a cracked ceiling, the once white paint having faded into a dull grey. 

He had woken up groggily, with a dull thudding in his head and his tongue feeling twice its size. A cup of water would go a long way right now. His arms were stiff as they rested above his head, and he couldn’t will his legs to move, either.

He had a hard time twisting his head to look around, but if he looked to his left he could see a corner of the ceiling, with what looked like a camera. To the right, there was a speaker.

On cue, a voice rumbled out of the speakers, startling Jack. It was deep and masculine, and had what sounded like a forced British accent. 

“Good morning,” He said. “How are you feeling?” 

Jack couldn’t force his mouth to work. The voice seemed to understand. 

“Ah, you’re probably thirsty. Not a problem. Wait just one moment.” 

Jack blinked slowly up at the ceiling. There was a clang from somewhere and footsteps around him. A figure appeared above him. 

This figure, once Jack’s eyes focused on him, appeared to be wearing scrubs. A surgical mask was over his face, and tinted goggles blocked out any eyes that could be seen. A cap was over the figure’s hair. 

“Here, I’ll help you,” He said. A hand began to lift Jack’s head, and a plastic cup was held to Jack’s lips. “There you go, take a sip. I promise it’s only water.” 

Despite the red flags that had been popping up since Jack woke up, he couldn’t resist the water. He was unbelievably thirsty, and he drank it greedily. 

The figure took the cup away and Jack tried to follow it, but he found his hands couldn’t move to prop himself up. Tilting his head slightly, he saw rope around his wrists. Looking down, his legs were in the same situation. 

Realizing this, Jack began to pull against the restraints. He was still out of it, but he had come to enough to realize he was in a really,  _really_  bad situation. 

“Now, now, don’t be so excited,” The figure said, placing a hand on Jack’s forehead and forcing his head back onto the table he laid on. “Be patient, the fun hasn’t even started yet.”

Jack’s breathing picked up, and his eyes darted around the room. He licked his lips before speaking. “Who are you?” 

“Just a curious onlooker,” The figure said. “Nobody important. You, however, are _very_ important. I hope you share with me your curious little secrets.” 

Jack shook his head. “You’re the guy. That guy - the one who stalked Felix, you posted that mugshot and video of me.” 

“That’s me,” The figure said. He let go of Jack’s head and pulled a chair into view, sitting on it backwards. 

“Why?” Jack asked. 

“Everyone has secrets, Sean,” The figure said. “Everyone has a right to judge who is a good or bad person, but you can’t make a judgement based on a faux persona. All you popular folk on social media are all fake. A ruse. You change yourself to appear a better person than you truly are. And that’s not fair to your followers. They deserve to know _all_ sides of a person.” 

“They don’t need to know _everything_ ,” Jack argued, growing hot. “If they need to know all sides of a person, they deserve to know that it _wasn’t my fault!”_

The figure seemed to straighten at that. He leaned forward intently. “Tell me why it’s not your fault, Sean.” 

Jack swallowed, realizing what he had admitted. He looked away, staring at the opposite wall until the figure sighed and stood up. 

“Fine,” He said. “But I’ll be checking up on you later.” 

Jack didn’t say a word as the figure left his field of view, and soon after a door slammed shut. 

\---

8.

Police were called, Jack’s bags were inspected, and there were no leads. 

Mark watched the security tapes taken from the airport. They saw Jack stare at his phone like he had seen a ghost before tossing it in the trash, then moments later a strange figure appeared beside him, oddly close to his side. They saw the looks Jack gave the cameras, silently pleading for help. They saw him drop his bags and leave the airport, then get into a red car before driving off. 

Following the street cameras, they could follow the car up to a block away from the airport, before it suddenly disappeared in a tunnel and didn’t appear again. 

They searched for the same car in the entirety of LA, but they haven’t found anything yet by the time Mark had gotten home after nearly 24 hours since he had gotten sleep. And he couldn’t will himself to sleep either, he was so worried. What if they found Jack while he slept? What if Jack tried to call him? 

Tyler and Ethan had appeared at the house not long after Mark got home. They had been filled in by Mark on what had happened. 

“You look awful,” Tyler had said the minute he walked inside. 

“Thanks, you too,” Mark said, sarcastically. 

“Did you get any sleep?” Ethan asked.

“Nope,” Mark said. “And don’t tell me to, I can’t even if I want to.” 

“You’re really worried, aren’t you?” Tyler asked, and all three of them situated on the couch. 

“No, Tyler,” Mark said. “I couldn’t care less about Jack’s kidnapping, I’m just trying out this thing where I don’t sleep, at all.” 

“Wow, you get even more sarcastic when you’re tired,” Tyler said. “They’ll find him, Mark. Jack will be fine.” 

“You don’t know that,” Mark said. “You’ve heard of what this guy has done, right? He’s only failed once, when he tried to take down Felix. He didn’t get far enough to kidnap him, but he kidnapped Jack. You think he’ll just - let him go? What’s the chance of that?” 

“He failed with Felix,” Ethan said. “He could fail again.” 

Mark huffed, running a hand down his face. 

A sudden ring tone broke the tense air. Mark scrambled for his phone on the coffee table, hope filling him as he saw an unknown number. _Maybe it’s Jack!_

He answered it. 

“Hi, hello?” Mark asked. 

“Hello?” The voice on the other end said. “Is this...Mark Fischbach?” 

“Yes?” Mark asked. The voice was clearly not Jack’s, and it made his heart sink. 

“I’m Malcolm McLoughlin,” The voice said. “Jack’s brother.” 

“Oh,” Mark said. “ _Oh_. Uh, nice to meet you?”

“Yeah,” Malcolm said. “I’ve heard what happened to him. There’s no sign of him?” 

“No,” Mark sighed. 

“Okay,” Malcolm said. “Listen, I’m not sure if he’ll....come out okay, or not. If they’ll find him. So if he can’t make a statement, someone else has to.” 

“What do you mean?” Mark asked. 

“I mean,” Malcolm said. “I want someone to know what actually happened.”

Mark was silent for a long time, and Ethan and Tyler gave him curious looks. Eventually, Mark spoke. 

“Okay,” Mark said. “Uh, one sec.” He put the phone on the coffee table and put it on speaker. Ethan and Tyler leaned in curiously. “What is it you want to say, Malcolm?” 

“Um, alright,” Malcolm began. “How do I start....Um, what happened to our family was...terrifying, to say the least, and I’m lucky to be alive. But we were kids. We’ve put it all behind us at this point. And no matter how much I’ve wanted to blame Jack over the years, I know that it wasn’t him.” 

“What?” Mark said. 

“He didn’t do it,” Malcolm said. “Something else did.” 

\---

9.

If it weren’t for Malcolm, Sean would have believe he had gone crazy, that he’d really killed his family in cold blood, even if he has no memories of it. But Malcolm had saw that it wasn’t Sean who killed their brother and sisters and Ma and Pa. It was some creature that took Sean’s hand to hold the knife that killed them.

The creature had no form, which is why it had to take Sean’s. Why him? He’ll ask himself that for years to come. Maybe because an eight year old is vulnerable enough.

Malcolm had gone to bathroom at the exact right time. Sean had just barely missed him. When he returned to the bedroom he shared with his brothers, he saw Sean's bed empty and his older brother staring up at the ceiling, his throat concealed in a thick layer of frothing blood.

He didn’t scream either, and it was a good thing. Sean had just left their sister’s room and made his way down the hall, towards their parent’s.

Malcolm, instead of hiding in the closet first like the police believed, had hurried to their sister’s room to find them in the same state as his brother. He was quickly becoming sick to his stomach, but he had to get _someone_ , _someone_ ought to be okay--

He made it to their parent’s room just in time to see Sean slitting their father’s throat, his mother already going still, her eyes turning into marbles. Malcolm heard his father begin to choke, and knew it was too late.

He saw Sean, but he also knew it wasn’t him. His eyes were empty, a void, and Malcolm saw not a human there, but some otherworldly creature. Something who wanted to kill.

He knew right from that moment that Sean was not responsible for what happened that night. He believed it then, and he believed it to the present. But when he had gotten older, it became easier to point blame.

Malcolm had turned tail that moment back to their bedroom, and _then_ he hid in the closet. He saw the dark figure of Sean return, set the bloodied knife on the bedside table, tuck himself in bed, and go to sleep.

Malcolm remained in shaking fear all through the night, his eyes glued on Sean’s sleeping body, expecting whatever had taken a hold of him to wake back up and finish what it missed.

But nothing else happened, and the next morning, Malcolm used his remaining sanity to convince his brother that he did nothing wrong. That Sean had been possessed by something demonic that forced his hand. For years, he stuck by his brother’s side. 

Then the older they got, bitterness and resentment sunk in. As adults, they could fully understand what had happened, and Malcolm couldn’t help but doubt his memory. He couldn’t help wonder if he had imagined some creature to keep his brother innocent in his head. He heard similar cases, and it’s plausible it happened to him.

But that would mean Jack had really murdered their family. That they forever lived without their siblings and parents, missed out on the fun family adventures kids should have, because they were all gone in a single night. 

And that’s about when Malcolm began to blame Jack for what happened. 

His resentment caused them to grow apart and arguments to spike. When their aunt passed away, the one who had raised them, it just made things worse. They agreed never to talk about it, but they always thought about it. 

And now, with the secret out, and Jack held in a prison somewhere, Malcolm couldn’t help feel like he could have been a better older brother. 

\---

10.

Jack had been left alone for a long while. He wasn’t sure how long, but it could have been hours. Stuck tied to a table with nothing to do but stare at a cracked ceiling, he was struck with boredom. 

The door finally opened again, something he actually missed the sound of. His head tilted up to see the figure from earlier, dressed in full scrubs again, walk over with a tray in his hands. 

“Figured you were hungry,” He said. He set the tray on the table. “Have some protein shakes for you, gotta keep your strength up. We got a lot of talking ahead of us.” 

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Jack said. 

“Well, that’s just too bad,” The figure said. “Cause the only other option is I use some of my fun tools to remind you who’s in charge here. I was thinking the cauterizer would work nicely, you ever smell the scent of burning flesh? Kinda smells like a barbecue.” 

Jack remained silent, but didn’t deny the shake when it was brought to his mouth. 

“Good, good, we’re on the same page,” The figure said. “To break the ice, how about you ask a question first? I promise I’ll answer as honestly as I can.” 

Jack narrowed his eyes. The figure laughed. 

“It’s not a joke, my boy,” The figure chuckled. “I’m serious. Ask me any question, I’ll answer it.” 

Jack thought. He had a lot he was most curious about, but one trumps all...

“You say you don’t want us to have a fake persona online, but you lied about Felix. How is that not against your morals?”

“Pewdiepie?” The figure tapped his chin. “Well, there’s a logical reason to that. I thought I’d dig up some dirt on that guy. I had initially suspected he’s a cheater, never got any evidence, so I made my own. Figured if he really cheated he’d come clean with some ‘evidence’. That backfired. The same thing with the fans. He obviously doesn’t care about his fans, but I needed evidence. Creating false evidence is a perfectly okay way to get a true result. The ends justify the means. 

“It’s just that neither of those claims rang true. He actually never cheated and he never thought his fans were beneath him. I broke in to look through his personal items, but he didn’t have anything hidden, either. It was after that that I moved on. Felix was one of the few that surprised me, he really does wear his heart on his sleeve. 

“Okay, my turn!” The figure said. “Why are you not responsible for the deaths of your family?”

Jack stayed quiet, and the figure groaned. 

“Ugh, how long are you going to keep this silent treatment up?” The figure stood up abruptly, roughly banging his hands on the table before leaning over Jack, staring him down through the tinted goggles. “I answered your question, _it’s only fair you answer mine!”_

Jack remained silent, though it was more out of fear at this point. The figure scoffed and walked off, disappearing out of Jack’s line of sight. 

“You fucking internet _freaks_ ,” The figure said from somewhere. “Always stubborn as all hell, don’t give a damn about anyone but yourselves. But _you.”_

A clashing of metal sounded. “ _You_ are the worst of them all. You know why? You’re a fucking sociopath. You _murdered your entire family out of cold blood._ You can’t remember a thing? _Bullshit_.” 

Jack pulled at his restraints as the figure fiddled with what could only be torture weapons. But the knots were too tight, it’d be useless. 

“I think you savor their deaths, save them for yourself. You probably loved it. I wouldn’t be surprised. You internet people are _freaks_.” 

Something made a whirring sound from somewhere in the room, and Jack arched his back as he tried to get the ropes to snap. He knew it wouldn’t work, but he had to do something. He was completely powerless. 

“I think you need a little motivation. Do you really want your fingers? Ooh, how about your entire hand? Then you can’t stab anyone ever again.” 

The figure came into sight holding a mini saw. Its blade spun ominously, and Jack struggled to get his hands loose. The figure saw and without hesitation, used his free hand to slap across Jack’s face. 

Jack went momentarily still, surprised, and it gave the figure enough time to grasp Jack’s wrist and hold his hand still as he brought the saw closer. 

“ _No - NO!”_

_-_

_**Well, l͜on̡g ̢t̷ime ̧no ̛s͡ee̕.** _

**_Let’s make this i̸n҉t̀eresti̕n͟g̸,_ **

**_S̢̢h̵̢̕al̶͞l̛ ͘ẁ͏ę̶̕?͢͟  
_ **

-

Jack’s hand had broken free from the rope and the figure’s hand with little effort, and with a surprising amount of force, grabbed the saw as well. With small snaps that echoed around the room, each of Jack’s limbs had broken free from the restraints. 

“What--” The figure began. Jack stood up from the table and pushed against the figure easily, one hand on the saw and the other on the figure’s shoulder. 

His eyes were a complete void. It was almost like nothing was in his eye sockets at all except a pitch blackness, and yet, it stared through the figure with unbearable intensity. 

He pushed against the figure until a wall hit his back. The figure looked up at Jack fearfully, truly realizing the mistake he had made. 

“I didn’t--I didn’t mean any of it, I swear,” The figure pleaded. “I was just angry, I get mean when I’m angry, I wasn’t really going to cut your hand off--” 

Jack just smiled, and gripping the saw and the figure’s hand, turned the blade on the offender. The figure began to squirm as the whirring saw blades got closer to his face. 

“NO no no no please I promise I won’t do this again I’m done I’ll let you go _please don’t do this please_ \--” 

Jack’s hand paused an inch from the figure’s face, and Jack leaned into his ear. 

“They weren’t _his_ fault,” Jack, or the being possessing him, said. “They were _mine_.” 

Then he thrust the saw blade between the figure’s eyes, slicing the goggles in half as the blade dug through the nose canal, then the bones and flesh behind it, and the serial killer continued to scream, even as the blade threw out bits of brain matter, spitting chunk after chunk down his scrubs and onto the floor and onto Jack’s face. The screaming stopped soon after the blade hit brain, but Jack didn’t stop until the blade thunked against the wall. 

He smiled once at the mess, dropped the saw, and turned to leave. 

\---

Conclusion. 

The police found Jack’s body covered in blood and laying unconscious in a ditch, two miles from LA. In a situation like this, you’d expect the victim to be dead, if not almost dead. 

But Jack was perfectly unharmed. The blood was confirmed to not be his, and while they’re still searching for a match, questioning Jack hadn’t been much help. He had a big blank in his memory, from the moment the unknown serial killer was about to cut his hand off, to the moment he woke up in a hospital bed. 

No current suspects had been convicted as of yet. 

Meanwhile, Jack had recovered from the incident, his friends in LA playing a huge role. Mark had allowed him to stay at his house until Jack was prepared to take the flight back home. 

Malcolm flew up the moment he heard Jack was alive and safe, and the brothers slowly, but steadily, started to rekindle their relationship. 

While there were some strong feelings between Mark and Jack, both had decided not to talk about it as of yet. They’ll stay friends until this whole thing blows over, and then, maybe, try something. 

It’ll take a while to get over this event, and to explain this all to his followers somehow, and attempt to fix his image a bit. For now, he’s okay with the friends he has at his side. 

Whatever happened in the gap in his memory, Jack has no doubts it had to do with whatever happened in his childhood. He was almost sure that the blood he was found covered in belonged to the serial killer. 

Aside from that, there was just one other odd thing Jack noticed after he woke up. It was a subtle, subtle thing, but it was enough for him to notice it. A slight, almost buzz of activity, somewhere near the base of his skull. Like something had woken up. 

He didn’t speak about, didn’t address it, didn’t even think it. Maybe, just maybe, if he ignores it, it will go away. 

.

.

.

_**Yo̶u͞ t͢hi͏n͢k ̕it̛'s̶ th̸át̴ ea̸sy̨?̢** _


	3. The Bright Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whenever Anti kills someone, he finds skin glows a bright neon color.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: Gore, detailed murder, lots of mention of blood, be warned.**

Anti’s first kill was a bloody one. 

He had spent most of his conscious time watching behind the eyes of his host. His host did nothing but talk to himself and play games, and it made Anti itchy to gain control for himself. He would know how to pilot this flesh suit better than his host has. He just had to gain his strength first. 

When he finally did gain control, after a ruthless battle with his host while he slept - whether Jack realized it or not, he had fought relentlessly against Anti’s power - Anti spent a short amount of time stretching his limbs, testing his physical strength. Then he grabbed his jacket and a knife from the kitchen, and went searching for a victim. 

He had a bouncy energy within him. It made his fingers twitch and muscles ache. He could barely contain himself. 

So at 1:56 am, when a young teenage girl stumbled down the street, wearing a crop top and a mini skirt, holding her heels in one hand and grasping for the wall with the other, Anti took the opportunity. 

“Hey miss,” Anti said, using the tone of voice Jack always used that sounded disgustingly polite and innocent. “Do you need a hand?” 

It worked. The girl looked at him and smiled, dopey-eyed and drunk out of her mind. “Naaah, nooo, I’m good. I-I live sssomewhere ‘round, uh, ‘round here.” She tried to step around him, but Anti hooked an arm around her waist. 

“No offence, but you seem completely plastered,” Anti said. “I’d feel better if I assisted you home.” 

The girl laughed, not at all noticing something amiss. It was a high and irritating laugh, and her breath wafted in his face, smelling of liquor and something vanilla. He resisted the urge to stab her right then and there.

“You’re a uhh, a reeeeaal sweetie,” The girl crooned. “I live, uhhh. Where do I live?” She looked to Anti like he was supposed to know. 

“Just follow me, I’ll take you home,” Anti said. She hummed and rested her head on his shoulder, and Anti lead her to a darker and even more isolated part of the city. 

She looked up when she realized she must have been far away from home, but by then, it was too late. Anti took his hands to the sides of her face, squeezing her jaw closed with his thumbs, and rammed her head against the stone wall. He repeated the action, until a stain was left on the stone and her eyes had rolled into her head. She wasn’t dead, her chest gasped for air, but she wouldn’t be alive for much longer. 

Taking the knife from his pocket, Anti slashed across her midsection exposed by the crop top. Then he stabbed, deep into her stomach, then again, and again, working his way across her torso. 

He didn’t stop until he felt the energy drain from him, until her insides were nothing but slop. He was soaked with blood, and that gave him a kind of thrill. His hands and face and clothes were stained with her blood and skin and chunks of flesh. Almost without thinking, he dragged his bloody fingers down the side of his face. 

He walked home with a skip in his step. He debated trying to find another victim when he abruptly felt the pushing presence in the back of his mind. A kind of pressure that steadily grew. 

Jack was gaining his control back. 

He may not be conscious at the moment, not quite sure what's going on, but he is gaining back control. Anti is still quite weak in that regard. 

So instead of hunting, he hastily washed the knife in the kitchen sink and put it back, careful not to leave a mark. Then he showered off the remaining evidence, burned his clothes and buried the ashes, then crawled into bed and slept. 

When he woke up, he was once again pushed back to the edges of Jack’s mind, with his host oblivious to the night’s events. Hearing Jack’s thoughts, he found his host had woke up feeling like he had a nightmare, but couldn't quite grasp any recollection of it. 

When the girl’s body was found completely mutilated not a few hours later, it was on every news source in the area. Anti heard Jack think,  _ “Wow, that's awful. Who would do such a thing?”  _ He laughed, however he can laugh as a bodiless entity, with such glee and malice. 

It was interesting though, how Jack seemed to be a little more quiet afterwards. 

#

He found something odd after the first murder. 

When he gained control a second time, a month after the first, he didn't have the same ravaging energy. He had the desire to kill again, but it didn't feel like he would go insane if he didn't completely mutilate a body. 

He had walked into the bathroom because he had woken up at the right time when this body needed to pee. However, when he entered the bathroom, before he turned on the light, a neon glowing stopped him. 

In the dark, it looked like he had a splatter of pink neon paint across his face. His hands were covered in the paint, and four streaks were seen dragged down his cheek. 

In addition to the strange glowing, his eyes were a neon green, a stark contrast to the pink. 

He immediately knew where these stains came from. His hands closed into fists, and he could almost feel the blood on him again. It made him want to paint his body some more. 

These colors didn’t appear when Jack was in charge.

But who cares what happens when Jack is in charge?  _ Anti  _ is in charge now.

His next victim was taken at approximately 3:04 am. He wore gloves, duct taped to his hoodie sleeves, and his pants tucked into boots. He had a serrated bread knife from one of the kitchen drawers and a steak knife.

A group of teenagers were hanging out under a bridge. Couldn’t be older than sixteen or so. Four of them. A fire was lit on a trash can, and they huddled around it, sipping at what is probably beers.

Anti settled in the darkness for a long while. Even with his face glowing like it was, he was unseen from the teenagers, mostly due to the fact that their backs were to him. 

“Hey, I’m gonna go take a piss,” Said one of the teenage boys, and after a few jabs from his friends, walked a distance away. 

Anti kept his head down and stayed low in a crouch as he followed the boy wander from the group. The boy had settled around the corner from the bridge, and stopped in front of a bush. Before he could do his business, Anti came up behind him, clasped his hands together, and hit the kid hard on the head. 

He tumbled forward with a surprised “ _ oof! _ ”, and Anti grabbed him by the back of his shirt and punched him again. With the boy dazed, Anti dragged him further away from his group of friends, in a ditch that was hidden from any activity.

“Wha…?” The boy began, and Anti pushed his hood back. 

Anti saw the glow on the boy’s face and the boy blinked in surprise. Looked Anti up and down. 

“What the fuck?” 

Anti brought the knife out from his pocket, and the boy’s eyes widen. 

“Whoa man, what-what are you doing?” The boy asked, and he began crawling away from Anti. 

“Stay still,” Anti said, grabbing the boy’s leg and pulling him closer. Anti crouched down and straddled the boy’s hips. 

“Get- _ GET OFF! _ ” The boy yelled, shoving at Anti. 

Anti didn’t waste time and slashed the boy’s throat. The boy gurgled and he grasped fruitlessly at Anti. Anti ignored him and brought out the bread knife, settling it at the boy’s collar bone. With the boy still weakly grabbing at Anti, he sunk the knife into the boy’s chest, and began to drag it down. 

He heard the satisfying crunch of the boy’s ribs as they broke in way of the knife, the boy’s choking abruptly cut off, and he was left silently gasping, much like a fish. 

By the time Anti stopped at the boy’s navel, he had gone still. 

Setting the knife aside, Anti pushed his hands into the wound and widened it. There was already blood pooling below the boy, and his insides were a soup mixture of blood and guts. 

Anti dipped his hands inside the mix. It didn’t glow, at least not yet. It remained the dull red color blood was supposed to be, even as Anti mimicked what he did last time and, on the opposite side of his face, dragged his fingers down his cheek again. Then he let his hood fall back and ran his fingers through the faded green hair. 

Eventually he ripped the gloves off and let his hood fall to the ground. With the steak knife he drew lines in the boy’s undamaged skin, in between letting splatters of blood soak through his clothes, sometimes drawing a pattern in his own skin. 

When the desire to kill was fulfilled, he pulled the hood back on, grabbed the knives and headed home. The teenagers were still talking around the fire, unbeknownst to the fate of their friend. 

Rinse and repeat the process of last time, cleaning the knives and showering off the blood. The glowing pink disappeared under light, so after getting out of the shower, Anti wrapped a towel around his waist and stared in the mirror. He flicked off the lights. 

There was a mix of pink and blue coloring him. The neon blue overlapped the pink, mostly on his hands, and in splatters across his face. He had matching streaks of blue and pink on either side of his face. A split of blue and pink colored his body like splattered neon paint. He had streaks of blue glowing throughout his hair.

And his eyes, bright poison green.

This continued on for a while, every kill adding a new color. He had blue, pink, purple, and orange when Jack began to see the colors, too. 

Anti had been gaining more control more and more, testing his limits. He could take control briefly while Jack was awake, instead of waiting until he slept. He could manipulate Jack’s thoughts and emotions sometimes. Once made him snap at the barista who spelled his name wrong on the cup, then made Jack annoyed whenever he ordered a drink from her. The barista was dead a few weeks later - the brilliant orange - and he felt Jack suddenly get worried. And then Anti realized Jack was more aware of him than he previously thought. 

So when Jack switched off the lights that night he went to bed, he was greeted with his body lighting up like a sign in front of a bar. Jack had gasped and looked at the splatters, tracing over the lines, and both him and Anti felt a familiarity with them. 

Anti’s control had begun to affect Jack. For the time being, they were two conscious minds battling for a body.

Jack had turned the lights back on and the colors went away, and when he turned them back off, they were gone again. He took a few moments to just breathe, and sit there, before finally laying down and sleeping.

It was after he killed the Green one - the latest color - when tension rose to a climax. The green one was a kid in town, an annoying one. Had to be around twenty if not younger. A fan of Jack’s YouTube channel. He used to be bearable, like any other fan that bothered them, coming up to Jack to ask for a picture or an autograph. But he eventually leapt to other levels of creep. Popping up ‘coincidentally’ in public for the fourth time that week, knocking at Jack’s door to repeat how much of a fan he is, and at one point even found out Jack’s number and texted him all night. Jack was on the verge of a restraining order while Anti, on the other hand, had a better option. 

It didn’t take long for Anti to hunt the poor guy down. The guy seemed to already know that he was out, even if it was past midnight. The green one popped up to say hello before stopping in shock at the glowing colors across Anti’s face. 

The guy didn’t scream, he didn’t have time to. Anti already at the knife in his eye and held his throat closed in the same way he choked that barista. He held the guy down - even if the stalker was slightly bigger than him, Anti had found he had some unnatural strength - he took the knife out and slowly stabbed it back in the eye, stirring the contents together. Repeating the process, it became something like mush before he moved on to the other eye. 

The guy had enough air to keep him conscious, and he struggled and writhed against Jack as he methodically sliced the eyeball until both matched. 

The guy had gone still but he breathed heavily, and Jack wasn’t sure if he was still conscious or not. It didn’t stop him from continuing his assault. 

The next thing he did was slice the guy’s gut open. He knew the human body enough by now to know how deep to cut, and when he was finally deep enough, he pulled out the innards and left them hanging low down the man’s front.

The guy at this point must have woke back up, because he began struggling again and trying to scream. Anti took care of that quickly by slicing his throat. The guy’s screams cut off into a choke. 

As a final message, instead of just leaving the bodies in a ditch, he brought some sturdy rope with him. Tying it around a tree branch and then making a noose around the guy’s neck, he lifted the relentless stalker into the air. Teach them all a lesson. 

The gruesome display was the only thing the town could talk about for weeks. The mysterious murderer that killed people mercilessly took some pride in this one, displaying it for everyone to see. 

When Jack had control and learned of this murder, it seemed that on some level, he knew he had committed it. He knew, in his vague understanding, that whatever lurked in the back of his mind was the one responsible. 

They met face to face almost directly after this revelation. 

Jack had gotten out of the shower, towel around his waist, about to leave to his room to search for clothes when he stopped with his hand on the light switch. 

Looking at the mirror, Jack turned the lights off. 

The room glowed brilliantly, but it didn’t come from Jack himself. It came from the mirror. 

In the glow of the rainbow, Jack saw the other him smirk - the word  _ Anti  _ floating in his mind. 

Anti reached for the light switch and turned the lights back on, and the glow went away. They were the same. Appeared the same, at least. 

And Jack found out something knew. When Anti lifted his hand to wave, Jack found his own hand picking up and waving - until he realized he was only looking at his body’s reflection. When Anti in the mirror turned to walk out of the bathroom, Jack found himself leaving as well without his own conviction. He was pushed into the back of his own mind, only an observer as an unknown entity took his own body away from him. 

Thinking back to all the murders in this town, he realized this wasn’t the first time. 

**_A̧n̸̸͘d̵͢ ̵͜it'͏s ̸no̧͢͞t̵ ţh̡͝e̛̕͢ ̢l͞a͘s͠t͜.̴̵_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo. Would you believe me if I said Moana inspired this? XD If you haven't seen it, i'll keep it vague but still, spoiler alert. there's this character that can glow bright neon colors in certain light. so i started thinking, if in a darker version, the colors glowed because those are his past victim's blood? and then i applied to that Anti, and yeah. Here we are! XD 
> 
> I mostly created this version of Anti because I imagine it as really cool looking, gonna have to draw it sometime tbh, even if I'm not the best artist, aha. I also liked how as I wrote this, Anti and Jack almost had an equal understanding of each other, like they're not pure opposites, they have similar...dislikes? XD I can't explain it very well, but I like how this turned out. I hope you all enjoyed it too!!


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